Strangers in Death

  “Thank you. Before we get to what’s important, do you know why the Anderses wanted a German housekeeper, particularly?”

  “I am House Manager.”

  “House Manager.”

  “Mr. Anders’s grandmother was from Germany, and as a boy he had a German nanny.”

  “Okay. What time did you arrive this morning?”

  “Six. Precisely. I arrive at six precisely every morning but Sunday, which is my full day off. I leave at four, precisely, but for Tuesdays and Thursdays when I leave at one. My schedule can be adjusted as needed, and with sufficient notice.”

  “When you arrived at precisely six this morning, what did you do? Precisely?”

  Greta’s lips twitched, very slightly. It might have been humor. “Precisely, I removed my coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and stored them in the closet. Then I engaged the in-house security cameras. Mr. Anders disengages them every night prior to retiring. He dislikes the sensation of being watched, even if no one is in the house. My first duty in the morning is to turn them on again. After doing so, I came in here. I turned on the news, as is my habit, then checked the communication system. My employers most usually leave their breakfast orders the night before. They prefer I prepare them, rather than using the AutoChef. Mr. Anders ordered sliced melon, an egg-white omelette with dill, and two slices of wheat toast, with butter and orange marmalade. Coffee—he takes his with cream and one sugar—and a glass of tomato juice.”

  “Do you know what time he put the order in?”

  “Yes. At twenty-two seventeen.”

  “So you started breakfast?”

  “I did not. Mr. Anders would have breakfasted today at eight-fifteen. My next morning duty would have been to reengage the two domestic droids, as these are shut down every evening before Mr. and Mrs. Anders retire, and to give them the day’s work schedule. The droids are kept in the security room, there.” She gestured. “I went in to deal with them, but I noticed the security screens—the in-house. I saw Mr. Anders’s bedroom door was open. Mr. Anders never leaves his door open. If he’s inside the room, or has left the room, the door is closed. If I’m required to be in the room, I’m to leave the door open while I’m inside, then close it again when I leave. It’s the same for the domestics.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not my place to ask.”

  It’s my place, Eve thought. “You saw the door was open, but you didn’t notice the dead man in bed?”

  “The bedroom camera screens only the sitting area. Mr. Anders programmed it that way.”

  “A little phobic, maybe?”

  “Perhaps. I will say he’s a very private man.”

  “So his door was open.”

  “Nine years,” Greta continued. “The door has never been open when I arrive in the morning, unless my employers are not in residence. I was concerned, so I went upstairs without booting up the droids. When I got to the bedroom, I saw the fire in the hearth. Mr. Anders will not allow the fire when he sleeps or when he is out of the room. I was more concerned, so I went into the room. I saw him immediately. I went to the bedside, and I saw that I couldn’t help him. I went downstairs again, very quickly, and called nine-one-one.”

  “Why downstairs?”

  Greta looked puzzled. “I thought, from books and plays and vids, that I was not to touch anything in the room. Is that wrong?”

  “No, it’s exactly right. You did exactly the right thing.”

  “Good.” Greta gave a brisk, self-congratulatory nod. “Then I contacted Mrs. Anders, and waited for the police to come. They came in, perhaps, five or six minutes. I took the two officers upstairs, then one brought me back down to the kitchen, and waited here with me until you stepped in.”

  “I appreciate the details. Can you tell me who has the security codes to the house?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Anders and myself. The codes are changed every ten days.”

  “No one else has the codes? A good friend, another employee, a relative?”

  Greta shook her head, decisively. “No one else has the codes.”

  “Mrs. Anders is away.”

  “Yes. She left on Friday for a week in St. Lucia with some female friends. This is an annual trip, though they don’t go to the same place necessarily.”

  “You contacted her.”

  “Yes.” Greta shifted slightly. “I realize, after thinking more clearly, I should have waited, and the police would have notified Mrs. Anders. But…they’re my employers.”

  “How did you contact her?”

  “Through the resort. When she goes on holiday, she often shuts off her pocket ’link.”

  “And her reaction?”

  “I told her there had been an accident, that Mr. Anders was dead. I don’t think she believed me, or understood me initially. I had to repeat it twice, and I felt, under the circumstances, I couldn’t tell her when she asked what kind of accident. She said she would come home immediately.”

  “Okay, Greta. You have a good relationship with the Anderses?”

  “They are very good employers. Very fair, very correct.”

  “How about their relationship, with each other? It’s not gossip,” Eve said, reading Greta perfectly. “It’s very fair, and it’s very ‘correct’ for you to tell me any and everything you can that may help me find out what happened to Mr. Anders.”

  “They seemed very content to me, very well suited. It would be my impression that they enjoyed each other, and their life together.”

  Enjoying each other wasn’t what the crime scene transmitted, Eve thought. “Did either, or both of them, have relationships outside the marriage?”

  “You mean sexual. I couldn’t say. I manage the house. I’ve never seen anything in the house that would lead me to believe either, or both, engaged in adulterous affairs.”

  “Can you think of anyone who’d want him dead?”

  “No.” Greta eased back slowly. “I thought—I assumed—that someone had broken in to steal, and that Mr. Anders was killed by the thief.”

  “Have you noticed anything missing or out of place?”

  “No. No. But I haven’t looked.”

  “I’m going to have you do that now. One of the officers will take you around.” She glanced over as Peabody came in. “Peabody, get one of the uniforms. I want Mrs. Horowitz escorted while she looks around the house. You’re free to go afterward,” Eve told Greta. “If you’d give my partner or me the contact information where you’ll be.”

  “I prefer to stay, until Mrs. Anders arrives, if this is allowed. She may need me.”

  “All right then.” Eve rose, signaling the end to the initial interview. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

  As Greta went out, Eve walked to the room off the kitchen. Inside two droids, disengaged, stood. One male, one female, both uniformed and dignified in appearance. The security screens Greta had spoken of ranged over a wall, and as she’d stated, the master bedroom camera showed only the sitting area.

  “Dallas?”

  “Huh?”

  “House security was disengaged at two twenty-eight, reengaged at three twenty-six.”

  Eve turned to frown at Peabody. “Reengaged before TOD?”

  “Yeah. All security discs for the twenty-four-hour period before the security was reset are gone.”

  “Why, I’m shocked. We’ll get EDD in here to see if they can dig something out. So Anders’s night visitor left him hanging, and still alive. That doesn’t sound like sex games gone wrong.”

  “No,” Peabody agreed. “Sounds like murder.”

  Eve pulled out her communicator when it signaled. “Dallas.”

  “Sir, Mrs. Anders just got here. Should I bring her in?”

  “Bring her straight back to the kitchen.” Eve switched off. “Okay, let’s see what the widow has to say.”

  Turning back to the screens, she watched Ava Anders sweep through the front door, her sable coat swinging back from a slim body dressed in deep blue. Her hair, a delicate blond, was pulled
severely back from a face of high planes. Fat pearl drops swung at her ears, shaded glasses masked her eyes as she crossed the wide, marble foyer, through ornate archways, in skinny-heeled boots with the uniform at her side.

  Eve stepped back into the kitchen, took her seat at the sunny breakfast nook seconds before Ava strode in. “You’re in charge?” She pointed a finger at Eve. “You’re the one in charge? I demand to know what’s going on. Who the hell are you?”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Homicide.”

  “Homicide? What do you mean ‘Homicide’?” She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing eyes as blue and deep as her suit, tossed them onto the counter. “Greta said there’d been an accident. Tommy was in an accident. Where’s my husband? Where’s Greta?”

  Eve got to her feet. “Mrs. Anders, I’m sorry to tell you your husband was killed this morning.”

  Ava stood where she was, her eyebrows drawing together, her breath coming in short little bursts. “Killed. Greta said…but I thought.” She braced a hand on the counter, then slowly walked over to sit. “How? Did he…did he fall? Did he get sick, or…”

  Always best to stab quick and clean, Eve thought. “He was strangled in his bed.”

  Ava lifted a hand, pressed it to her mouth. Lifted the other to cross it over the first. Those deep blue eyes filled, and the tears spilled as she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Where’s Tommy?”

  “We’re taking care of him now, Mrs. Anders.” Peabody stepped over, offered a glass of water.

  She took the water, and when one hand shook, gripped the glass with both. “Someone broke in? I don’t see how that can be. We’re secure, we’re very secure here. Fifteen years. We’ve been here for fifteen years. We’ve never had a break-in.”

  “There weren’t any signs of a break-in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Whoever killed your husband either knew the security code, or was given access to the house.”

  “That can’t be.” Ava waved a hand in quick dismissal. “No one other than Tommy and myself and Greta has the code. Surely you’re not suggesting Greta—”

  “I’m not, no.” Though she’d be doing a thorough check on the house manager. “There wasn’t a break-in, Mrs. Anders. Thus far there’s no sign anything in the house was taken, or disturbed.”

  Ava laid a hand between her breasts where a rope of luminous pearls rested. “You’re saying Tommy let someone in, and they killed him. But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Mrs. Anders, was your husband involved with someone, sexually or romantically?”

  She turned away immediately, first her face, then her body. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m not going to talk about this now. My husband is dead.”

  “If you know anyone who could gain access to the house, to his bedroom—while you were out of the country—it could tell us who killed your husband, and why.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t. And I can’t think about something like that.” The anger slapped out at Eve. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you out of my house.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Until we clear it, this house is part of a homicide investigation. Your husband’s bedroom is a crime scene. I suggest you make arrangements to stay elsewhere for the time being, and to stay available. If you don’t want to finish this now, we’ll finish it later.”

  “I want to see my husband. I want to see Tommy.”

  “We’ll arrange that as soon as possible. Do you want us to contact anyone for you?”

  “No.” Ava looked out the sunny window. “I don’t want anyone. I don’t want anyone now.”

  Outside, Eve climbed behind the wheel while Peabody sat shotgun. “Rough,” Peabody commented. “You’re soaking up tropical drinks and rays one minute, and the next, your husband’s dead.”

  “She knows he was screwing around. She knows something about it.”

  “I guess they probably always do. The spouse, I mean, of the screwing-arounder. And I think a lot of times they can just block it out, pretend it’s not happening hard enough so they start to believe it.”

  “Would you be shedding tears for McNab’s dead body if he’d been screwing around on you?”

  Peabody pursed her lips. “Well, since I’d’ve been the one who killed him, I’d probably be shedding tears for me because you’d be arresting me. And that would really make me sad. Easy enough to verify Ava Anders was out of the country when Anders died.”

  “Yeah, do that. And we’ll check her financials. They’ve got plenty of dough to roll. Maybe she cut off some to hire somebody to kill him. Paid his playmate to do it.”

  “Man, how cold would that be?”

  “We’ll run friends, business associates, golf partners—”

  “Golf?”

  “He had a golf game scheduled this morning with an Edmond Luce. Maybe we’ll shake loose something on who he played other games with when the wife was off with the girls.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to do that? Have a girl trip?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, come on, Dallas.” The very idea brightened Peabody’s voice. “Go somewhere with girlfriends, hang, drink lots of wine or fussy drinks, get facials and spa treatments, or lie on the beach, and talk about stuff half the night.”

  Eve glanced over. “I’d rather be dragged naked over jagged glass.”

  “Well, I think we should do it some time. You, me, Mavis, maybe Nadine and Louise. And Trina—she could do our hair and—”

  “If Trina comes on this mythical nightmare, I get to drag her naked over jagged glass. That’s my bottom line.”

  “You’d have fun,” Peabody muttered.

  “I would, I probably would. I’d feel bad about dragging her over jagged glass ten or twenty years later, but at the time, I’d have fun.”

  Giving up, Peabody huffed out a breath, took out her PPC, and began to do the checks and runs.

  2

  IT WAS INTERESTING, BUT NOT SURPRISING, THAT Anders Worldwide’s New York headquarters were housed in the sleek black tower on Fifth. Roarke Enterprises’ New York headquarters also housed its base there and owned every inch of that sleek black tower.

  “Do you want to stop by and see—”

  “No.”

  Peabody rolled her eyes at Eve’s back as they stepped into the huge, glossy lobby with its rivers of flowers, its moving maps, its busy shops. “I just figured since we were right here—”

  “Why are we right here, Peabody? And if you roll your eyes behind me again, I’m going to poke them out with a stick.”

  “You don’t have a stick.”

  “There’s a tree right over there. I’ll get one.”

  Peabody sighed. “We’re right here because we’re investigating a murder.”

  “And do we think Roarke killed Anders?”

  “No.”

  Eve stopped at Security, started to badge the guard on duty. And he smiled toothily. “Lieutenant Dallas. You can go right up.”

  “I’m not going there. Anders Worldwide.”

  He tapped his computer screen. “Twenty-first and-second floors. Reception on twenty-one. You’ll want the first bank of elevators. Do you want me to call up?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Eve called the car, stepped on, ordered the twenty-first floor.

  “Do you think Roarke knew Anders?”

  “Probably.”

  “Could be handy.”

  “Maybe.” Eve had nearly reached the point where having Roarke know so many damn people wasn’t completely annoying. “The run said Anders is worth about half a billion including his controlling interest in Anders Worldwide.” Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, Eve tapped her fingers on her thighs. “That’s a lot of motives for murder. Add sex, you’ve pretty much got it all. Greed, jealousy, gain, revenge.”

  “The guy was practically asking for it.”

  Eve grinned. “Let’s find out.”
Her face sober again, she walked through the open elevator doors.

  Behind a long red counter, three receptionists wore headsets and appeared very busy. Even so, the center one, a dark-skinned brunette, offered a beaming smile. “Good morning! How can I help you?”

  “I need to see whoever’s in charge.”

  “Which department are you—Oh.” She broke off, blinking rapidly at Eve’s badge when it slapped on the slick red counter.

  “All of them. Who’s the top dog under Thomas A. Anders?”

  “This is my first week. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Frankie!”

  “What is it, Syl?” The man at her left glanced over, then down at the badge. “Is there something I can help you with, ah…”

  “Lieutenant. I need to speak with Thomas Anders’s second-in-command, or whoever’s highest in the pecking order and in house now.”

  “That would be Mr. Forrest. Benedict Forrest. He’s in a meeting, but—”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Right. If you could give me a minute to contact his admin. He’ll come down and escort you upstairs.”

  “I can get upstairs myself. Tell the admin to get Forrest out of the meeting.” Eve got back in the elevator, rolled her shoulders. “That was fun.”

  “Pretty bitchy.”

  “That’s what was fun about it.”

  As Eve stepped off again, a stick-thin woman in high, stick-thin heels came bolting through a set of glass doors. “Ah, officers! If you’d come with me.”

  “You’re the admin?”

  “No, I’m the AA. Assistant administrator. I’ll take you to Mr. Walsh’s office.”

  “Who would be the administrative assistant, rather than the assistant administrator.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How does anybody get business done when they have to translate all these titles?”

  “Ah, Mr. Walsh is letting Mr. Forrest know you’re here. Apparently Reception didn’t get the nature of the business you’re here to discuss.”

  “No, they didn’t.”